


Collared

by misaffection



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-03
Updated: 2011-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-17 13:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is taken captive and finds herself in a cell with Baal. Faced with a badly injured Goa'uld wearing a collar inhibiting his symbiote's healing abilities, Sam takes a chance and decides to save him as well as herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  


As plans went, it could have gone better. It couldn’t have gone much worse.

What had started out as recon, based in a tiny hut halfway between the village and the Stargate, hidden by dense undergrowth and a phase device, had ended in disaster when the villagers had seen through Sam's disguise.

She struggled against her captors, but they disarmed her in short measure, then hit her in the face with the butt of her rifle.

The leader dragged her up out of the dirt and propelled her through the village and into a dingy building that, given the bars, was obviously the local jail. The man unlocked the door, opened it and shoved her through. She stumbled but managed to keep on her feet, turning to glare at him as he locked the door again.

“Pray for your soul, Tau’ri,” he advised her, dropping the ring of keys on the rough wooden table alongside her radio and gun. “When the Prior comes, you shall burn.”

Was she supposed to be pleased by that? She arched her eyebrows and muttered, “Oh goodie.”

Her sarcasm gained her a scowl. However since she'd already been caught, smacked with a rifle and was now awaiting the judgement of a higher power, the man couldn't do much else. He stalked out of the building, presumably to build the pyre.

Sam watched the door slam shut, listened to his footsteps fade, then bent to examine the lock.

“Believe me, I tried that.”

Jumping at the voice from behind her, Sam whirled. The light in the cell was even patchier than it was in the main part of the building, and the shadows were deep. But darkness hadn't stopped her from recognising the wry, accented voice or from feeling the fizz of naquadah in her blood.

Her mouth went dry and she backed up hard against the bars. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she could make out a meagre scattering of straw over the hard-packed ground and the rough stones that made the wall. Against that was a thick wedge of wood and on that sat...

“Baal.” She spat the Goa'uld's name out in disgust, fear giving way to impotent anger. “Now this _is_ punishment.”

He glared at her. Despite the shadows, Sam noticed there was something not quite right and she stepped away from the bars, moving into the centre of the cell. Baal's head tilted up and a small gasp escaped her.

His right eye was swollen almost shut, the bruising a darker shadow on that side of his face. His expression was defiant, but the tension of his jaw gave him away.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“I walked into a door.” His voice was human and very sarcastic. He folded his arms in a gesture that snapped with irritation. “What does it look like?”

It looked very much like his capture had gone along the same lines of hers. She thumbed the side of her mouth and winced. Deciding he probably didn’t want to talk about it, she asked, “How long have you been in here?”

Baal winced as he shifted on the bench, making Sam wonder where else he was bruised.

“Not entirely sure,” he said in a low voice. “Two, maybe three days. I've lost track of time.”

Sam pursed her lips as she stared at his battered face. A loss of time suggested concussion, but she had a more pertinent question. “So why hasn’t your symbiote healed you?”

A familiar wry smile crawled over his mouth and he lifted a hand to his neck.

“Because of this.”

His fingers rested on a thin, silver band that wrapped around his throat like a torque. Some sort of collar? Curiosity overcame Sam's better sense and she sat on the bench next to him in order to get a closer look.

It could have been steel or silver - the dim lighting meant she couldn't really tell – and cool to the touch. She turned it round but couldn't find an opening.

She frowned. “What is it?”

“No idea, but it renders my symbiote useless.”

Well, she’d gotten that. Irritated at the statement of the obvious she gave him a glare, only to realise how close they were. She drew back with a sharp cough and brushed invisible off her trousers.

Baal gave a laugh with turned into a fit pf wet-sounding coughing. The local tough had stripped Sam of her backpack, but she did have a small canteen shoved into one of her belt sections. She pulled it out and pushed it into his hands. He gave her a quick twitch of his lips that was more grimace than smile, then drank from the bottle. Coughed again.

“Take it easy,” Sam murmured. He groaned. It was low, rough and full of pain. She winced despite what he was and what he’d done in the past. “So the villages put that... collar on you?”

Calling it that might gain his ire, but she couldn’t think of another word. In the end, he ignored the terminology.

“Yes, and then they... well, you can see what they did after that.”

She could, this close to him: as well as the bruising that closed his right eye, he sported a deep gash above it that was clotted with blood. His bottom lip was split and scabbed. And now her eyes had adjusted to the gloom she could see his skin was sallow.

But more worrying than that were the short tides of his breathing. They rattled in his chest, wheezing on each exhalation. Her medical knowledge was only basic field training, but she’d bet anything that him having at least one broken rib.

Her gaze slid down to the gold shirt. Stained with dirt and blood, there was a clear boot print over his right side. She reckoned he must have fallen on his left and curled there, taken the brunt of the beating on the exposed side. She laid a hand on the print and Baal flinched back.

“Sorry,” she said, but her mind was already several steps ahead. If he had broken a rib, it’d be on this side. A good stamp would definitely do it, symbiote or not, and-

“What _are_ you doing?”

Baal’s curious tone brought her out of the train of thought to the sight of her hands at the buttons of his shirt. Two were already undone. Her cheeks heated.

“Checking on what I can’t see.” She swallowed as he arched an eyebrow at her. “May I?”

“I suppose. For all the difference it’ll make.”

He leant his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Sam pulled a face at him and then undid the rest of the buttons. A low curse dropped from her lips as she opened his shirt.

Though the lack of lighting reduced colour to shades of grey, it was apparent from the dark splodges that covered Baal's chest that he’d been through an extremely vicious beating. Sam shook her head in disgust and fingered the bruise where the boot print had been. His skin there was swollen and hot, and he hissed when she applied the slightest pressure. She sighed.

“You have a broken rib.” Walked her fingers over the others, she tested for further injuries but thankfully found none. “I’m surprised it’s just the one, to be honest.”

“So I am,” Baal replied, tone bitter and terse. “Given the... ah, enthusiasm employed.”

Sam grimaced: though he had been both enemy and ally, it was difficult to witness what had been done to him without feeling some sympathy.

“Have you tried removing the collar?” she asked and got a withering glare for her trouble. “Okay, stupid question. I take it that there’s some sort of failsafe?”

“Yes. When I attempting its removal, I-” Something dark flickered over his face. “It caused extreme pain.”

She nodded. “That doesn't surprise me. Though I do wonder why they didn’t bother with me.”

“ _You_ aren’t Goa’uld.”

Shock washed over her.

“What? Is that...?” Looking up at him, she frowned as she tried to figure out why he was here. She narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. “Now, why would an Ori-worshipping village have a-” She fumbled for a description. “An anti-Goa’uld device? What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s very simple, even for a Tau’ri female.” Having delivered that, Baal sniffed and gazed up at the ceiling, as if it was too far beneath him to even look at her. “This planet was once my domain. Then the Ori came.”

“So you’d thought you come by and reclaim it?”

“Hardly. Why would I bother with one pathetic planet of farmers and sheep herders? No, I came to reclaim a personal possession.”

“Such as what?”

“Did you forget the meaning of 'personal'?” he asked sourly.

Sam arched her eyebrows.

“Did you want rescuing? I could just leave you here. To burn.”

Baal cringed and gabbled, “Alright, alright, it was a weapon.” He caught himself with a sigh. “Small and hardly significant, but the power source... is possibly Ancient.” Meeting her rather irritated gaze, he shrugged a shoulder. “I did not believe it to be important. However I have lately found some text that suggest otherwise.”

“What does it do?”

“I have no idea.”

Sam suspected he was lying and pressed down on his rib. He yelped and jerked back, managing to bounce his head off the wall.

“I don’t!” he ground out, voice thin with pain. “Really, I don't.”

He gasped as she eased the pressure, then shot her a baleful glare. Guilt twinged: causing him pain had been a low blow, but she needed the truth.

“Then why bother?” she asked, softer tone the only apology she was prepared to give.

“Clearly, I didn’t think it _would_ be a bother. I dressed down and came through the Gate, hoping to be taken for a pilgrim. Unfortunately, the townspeople remembered my face and things got distinctly ugly.”

“You came with no Jaffa?”

“No.”

She tilted her head. “You've had better plans.”

“This is not funny.”

“No.” Her gaze drifted down to his chest. “They beat you and threw you in here. I don't...” Goa’uld or not, it smacked of vicious, unnecessary cruelty. Especially since they’d not bothered to treat his wounds. “I’m surprised they didn’t kill you.”

“And miss the opportunity to burn me alive?” Baal huffed. “You underestimate them, Samantha.”

His use of her name made Sam jolt. Her startled gaze was rewarded by a tired, wry smile and a prickle ran over her skin. It was easy to forget that there was a human male involved here, especially when the symbiote inside was usually so arrogant.

There was nothing of that arrogance now - just a broken, battered body. Chewing on her bottom lip, she wondered if it was too easy to dismiss the host. When he could bleed.

When he could _die_.

Determination flooded her. “There’s not going to be any burning,” she told him as she got to her feet. Going back to the cell door she checked the hinges. “We’re getting out of here.”

“’We’?”

Baal sounded surprised and well he might Sam thought, aware of the risk taking him with her would mean. However, she wasn't about to leave him behind either. Her conscience wouldn't allow it.

“Yes, we,” she said shortly. “Call me a pathetic human or overly emotional, or whatever you like, but I’m not going to leave you here. Not even you deserve that sort of fate.”

“I...”

For once it seemed that Baal was without words. She threw him a grin, amused at his inability to articulate anything. He shifted on the bench with another wince, then looked at her.

“Wouldn't it be simpler if you left me here?”

“Simpler and easier,” she agreed with aplomb. “But not right.”

“You’ll regret it,” he warned.

She laughed. “More than likely.”

Her examination of the hinges came up blank. She shifted her attention back to the lock. It was a fairly simple mechanism and she thought that with the right tool that she'd be able to open in.

“Do you have anything metal on you?” she asked Baal. “I need something fairly thin and pliable.”

“Unfortunately everything of note was stripped off me. I have nothing, I'm afraid.”

Of course he didn't. Sam sighed and went back over to him.

“Up.” She heaved at one arm and he rose with a groan. Turning him to face the wall, she shoved her knuckles against his back, right over a kidney. He stiffened. “Move and I’ll kill you myself,” she informed him.

“What are you planning to do?”

Sam pulled a face. “Nothing that you need to know about.”

Her eyes on his back, she undid her shirt and slid it off, then unfastened her bra and let it drop to the floor. She dragged her shirt on, fingers fumbling over the buttons in her haste to make herself decent.

“There,” she announced.

Baal turned with a puzzled expression that morphed to understanding when his gaze fell on the discarded article of clothing. He smirked.

“Samantha, Sa _man_ tha,” he drawled. “A prison is the last place for such modesty.”

“It’s the _best_ place for it,” she retorted, working a wire free from one of the cups. Twisting it straight, she gave him a sober look. “Can you run? Because we’re probably going to need to.”

He returned her gaze steadily. “I’ll manage.”

“Baal-” she started, only to be waved into silence.

“Just... open the door, Samantha.”

For a moment, she held his gaze, then nodded; aware that talking wasn't going to change the basic facts. He either managed to keep up with her or... well, she wasn't thinking about that. Inserting the wire into the keyhole, she explained her plan.

“There's a hideout on the outskirts of the village.” She jiggled the wire in the lock. “If we can get into the woods, there should be enough cover to allow us to circle round. It's about five hundred yards from there to the Stargate.”

“They’ll have the Gate guarded,” Baal noted.

“Yeah I know, but I was due to check in an hour ago. Since I didn't, the others will assume something’s gone wrong.” She glanced at him with a smile. “We’re not completely stupid, Baal.”

He grunted. Sam didn’t know if that was a denial or agreement but decided not to ask: she didn't need to give him an opportunity to get under her skin, he managed that just fine as it was.

Sam wrinkled her nose and twisted the wire, taking something of her irritation out on the hapless lock. The resulting click was loud in the silence.

Rising to a standing position, she glanced at Baal. He hitched his shoulders and nodded. She gave the door an experimental push. It swung open with a soft metallic creak.

There was an immediate temptation to make a mad rush, but Sam knew that would only end in recapture. Calm and stealth were what would see her – them – safe. Taking a deep breath, Sam edged out of the cell and went over to the table, recovering her radio and rifle.

“Didn’t you bring a weapon?” she asked Baal.

“No.” He pulled a face. “I'm beginning to think that was not such a good idea.”

Listening to the distant shouting as someone inflamed the righteous passions of the villagers further, Sam could only agree.

“We don’t have much time,” she told him. “Come on.”

Ordering a Goa'uld around perhaps wasn't the best idea, but he followed her silently to the exterior door. She inched that open and peered outside. The entrance opened onto a side road off the main route through the town, but the central square was a hundred or so yards away and brimming with people. Fortunately, their attention was on the burly man, who stood next to a good-sized bonfire, spouting Ori epitaphs.

A sudden silence fell over the crowd.

“Prior.”

Baal’s voice in her ear made Sam jump. She glared at him and moved away, then cast a nervous glance at the crowd. “We should move,” he added.

She rolled her eyes. “Ya think?”

Despite her sarcasm, she knew he was right. The presence of a Prior made things far more dangerous and increased the probability of unpleasantness if they were captured. Recaptured. Whatever. She ventured out into the passageway.

Clinging to the shadows at the side of the building, Sam edged down the alley towards the outskirts of the town. After a hundred yards or so, she pushed Baal in front of her, partly so she could cover him, partly so she could keep an eye out for anyone spotting them. She expected the empty cell to be discovered at any moment - a thought that made her heart race. If they were caught... well, she didn't want to think about that.

It seemed to take forever to reach the edge of the town, but was perhaps only five minutes. She stopped and looked at the trees and the undergrowth that she hoped would hide them long enough to reach relative safety.

“On three?” Baal asked.

Sam gave a quick nod and repositioned her rifle, determined not to go down without a fight. Then a blast of a horn sounded and shattered her nerve. She grabbed Baal’s hand.

“Three.”

They bolted across the space. Sam fully expected to feel a blast between her shoulder blades, but suddenly found herself amongst the trees in one piece. She turned to check on Baal and froze.

He was doubled over, arms wrapped around his injured torso, his breathing sharp and tight. Horror shafted through her as he sank to his knees, face grey with pain. If a dash of twelve yards had reduced him to this, then she couldn't see how he'd last to the hideout.

Her gaze focused on the innocuous silver band around his neck. Without the symbiote, Baal would remain injured, remain a liability. Unprepared to abandon him now, Sam reached for the collar, intending to yank it off.

“No,” Baal gasped, pulling away from her.

“You need the symbiote.” Frustration seethed. Why wouldn't he let her help him? “We need to get that damn thing off.”

He glared at her. “It causes pain when tampered with. Trying to remove it now will only incapacitate me.”

“Like you aren't already,” Sam retorted. “You can barely move.”

“Fine, then... leave me.” He sat back on his heels and waved a hand. “Get to safety.”

“I'm _not_ leaving you.”

“Why not?”

Sam blinked and looked away. Good question. She ought to – she knew that – but she just couldn't.

“We don't leave people behind,” she said softly. “Not even annoying, self-serving parasitic pains in the ass.”

A smile twitched the corner of Baal's mouth and he lowered his head slightly. Despite his discomfort, he seemed to be recovering quickly – colour had returned to his face and his breathing was steadier, if still shallow.

“You should,” he said then. “I'm slowing you down, putting you at risk.” He lifted his head again and Sam stifled a gasp at the piercing stare he gave her. “Just... go. Save yourself.”

Startled at his unusual deference, Sam said, “Wow, that blow to your head must have been pretty tremendous.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Yes, make mock of the one time I choose to think of someone other than myself,” he said, tone very sour. “That’s very big of you, Samantha.”

“Sorry.” She ran a hand through her hair, considering her options desperately. “You kind of took me by surprise. Look, we can’t exactly run through all this undergrowth anyway. Let’s just get on with it. Preferably before they find us and turn us into charcoal.”

“I’m with you on that one.”

Helping him up, Sam pushed him ahead of her and they began to pick their way through the tangle of brambles and thick fern-like plants. The sky, when she caught sight of it between the branches, was the dull iron grey of early evening and made her pick up the pace: this was hard enough in daylight and would be impossible once it got dark.

As she walked, she kept half an eye on Baal. He winced at every step, the pain clearly getting to him as his movements slowed. She felt a hopeless sort of sympathy – there was nothing that she could do for him, only get him to the safety of the hideout and then... Well, she didn't quite know but she'd take things from there.

The thing was a Goa’uld symbiote suppressed the body's natural healing ability. With that in stasis, Baal was being denied both natural and symbiotic healing. His wounds would remain as painful as when first inflicted, eventually becoming festered and resulting in a long and agonising death.

Bile rose in her throat and she stumbled. “Crap.”

“What’s the matter?” Baal's tone radiated annoyance. “Lost your way?”

And there she was worrying about him. She threw him a withering glare, only for the flare of anger to die as she saw past the mask of indifference on his face.

“No. I realised that if I can’t get that collar off, then you’re probably going to die.”

Baal looked at her, gaze steady with only the slightest betraying glitter. “I am aware of that, yes. I apologise for being something of the proverbial albatross around your neck.” He winced a smile. “Pun not intended.”

Sam didn’t think it was funny. “What do I do?”

“Worry about it once we’ve gotten to safety,” he suggested. “Assuming such a thing even exists.”

He was annoyingly right. She pushed herself into action, thankful that the hideout wasn’t too much further. Listening for anything beyond the crashing of their bodies through the undergrowth, she couldn’t hear anything. That seemed... weird – the villagers had to have discovered their escape by now.

A thousand possibilities leapt to her mind, but Sam ignored them. She had to deal with problems as they happened, not worry about ones that hadn’t and might not. Fortunately her worst fear - that the villagers had somehow found the hideout and were there waiting complete with Ori Prior - turned out to be unsubstantiated.

She opened the door and ushered Baal inside. It wasn’t the most salubrious hiding place ever, but it ranked far higher than the cell. Still Sam expected Baal to say something derisive as she moved to the phase-shift generator sat on the rough table. When he didn’t, she counted herself lucky and powered up the device.

Static ran over her arms as the field spread out and she let out a relieved sigh, bracing on the table as her knees buckled slightly.

“What a _fascinating_ piece of equipment,” Baal remarked dryly.

Her blistering retort died on her lips as his eyes rolled back and he dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment, Sam just stood and stared at Baal’s prone form. Accustomed to the Goa’uld’s ability to heal the host, even though she knew the collar hampered him, seeing him unconscious was a shock.

Then training kicked in and she dropped to her knees at his side, her fingers finding the pulse point at his neck. The beat was slow, but steady. She bent her ear to his mouth and felt the whisper of his breathing, then sat back on her heels to access his condition.

Her conclusion was that he wasn’t good – his skin was grey and clammy, his breathing short and sharp. She cradled his cheek, concerned by the fragility to his appearance. It didn’t suit him, she decided, and found herself missing the force of his personality. The thought of his dying left a surprising bitter taste in her mouth.

Well, she wasn’t going to _let_ him die. Not without a fight, anyway. She wrestled his body on to the narrow cot, then opened her canteen using the last of the water to clean the deep gash along his hairline. She closed the wound over with the bandage strips from her med kit. Wetting the cloth again, she dabbed his face clean of blood. She kept her touch light, being careful of the bruising that marred his handsome face.

 _Handsome?_ The stray thought jolted her and she pulled back to stare at him. Objectively, she supposed he was but it was hardly the kind of thing she ought to be thinking. Bad timing. Even worse choice of man.

Sam shook herself and tried to concentrate on dealing with his injuries. But with the head wound down, the cracked rib demanded her attention. That meant removing his shirt again.

In the shadowy cell, the bruises had dominated her thoughts. Now she could see the muscularity of his chest, the flat plane of his stomach.

 _Oh boy_ , she thought. Her eyes settled on the dark purple swelling over his ribs. _Come on, Sam. Focus._

The bruises were layered, one on top of another, making it impossible to count the blows he’d taken. The sight angered her: despite what he was she couldn’t but think that even he deserved better than such a slow, painful death.

And Sam knew that he would die, without either proper medical or the symbiote being able to heal him. Her eyes skittered over his chest to the collar. It had to come off, but she was too afraid of what it would do to him to touch it.

She was... worried for him. A lot more than she should be, and certainly more than he deserved, but even though her life would be so easier without him in it, she still didn’t want him to die.

It was mostly selfish – if he died, then she would be on her own. With a Prior on their tail and a yammering mob hungry for their blood, she really didn’t want to be alone. Even their usual sniping would be better than that.

A soft moan made her blink. She leant forward as his eyelids fluttered, and then opened. They were hazy with pain, but coherent. And flecked with gold.

Sam blinked, unsure if that was natural or caused by the symbiote. Either way, it was rather entrancing.

Baal gave her a smile that was strained but still managed to curve both side of his mouth. Warmer than his customary sardonic smirk, she found herself wishing that he’d smile like that more often.

“Welcome back,” she murmured, returning that smile and touching his cheek again. Something flickered in his eyes. Sam chose to ignore it. “How are you feeling?”

“As if I hit every damn tree in the forest,” he replied, tone wry. Then he winced as a cough wracked him. “Does this hideout come with something to drink?”

“Yeah, and MREs. All the conveniences a hut should come with.”

He snorted. “Funny.”

“I thought so.” Sam grinned at him and retrieved her pack. Rooting through, she dug out a canteen of water and a couple of powerbars. She handed one and the canteen to Baal. “As good as you’re going to get for now.”

“Pathetically, it’ll do for now. I’ve had nothing for the past three days.”

Her lips twitched at the déjà vu. “And without your symbiote to sustain you.” Sitting on the bed – and ignoring his indignant glower – she added, “You set a high bar for sheer stubbornness.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Take it as you like.”

He just looked at her, then ripped open the wrapper of his powerbar. She followed suit, chewing at it as she considered the field generator and their immediate problem.

“We should have enough power to sustain the field for a few days,” she said, with a wave at the device. “Though obviously I’m hoping the boys are going to pull a cavalry charge before then, since a few days cooped up with you is going to try my patience.”

Baal took a deep draft from the canteen, then wiped the mouth and held it out to her. “Likewise.”

A laugh broke from her. His lips twitched into a brief smile, which he hid by examining the wrapper of his powerbar. With another laugh, Sam lifted the canteen. Even a few mouthfuls of tepid water made her feel much better. She gave a deep sigh, recapped the canteen and then placed it on the floor. Picking the med kit up, she found a roll of bandage and turned to Baal.

“Right you, come on. Sit up and lift your arms.” Her instructions resulted in an arched eyebrow. “I need to wrap that rib,” she explained. “It’ll help with the pain.”

He scowled at her. “I’m fine.”

“You’re really not.”

“Samantha-”

She cut him off by applying the slightest pressure to his side, arching her eyebrows at his grunt of pain. “Stop being so stubborn,” she said softly. “Let me help you.”

Baal glared at her, then looked away with a sigh. “Fine,” he relented and shifted so that he was sat beside her on the edge of the cot. He lifted his arms, an expression of bare tolerance on his face as she wrapped the bandages around his chest. Pinning the end, Sam sat back and admired her handiwork as he lowered his arms.

“Well?” she asked.

He took a breath, probably to say something sarcastic, only for an amusingly startled look to cross his face.

“Oh.”

Sam chuckled. “See? I might be a mere Tau’ri female, but I do know a thing or two.”

“So it would seem.”

Baal retrieved his shirt and pulled it back on. Sam tried not to feel disappointed. Her eyes settled on the collar.

“So with that in mind...” She reached out, but he caught her wrist.

“Samantha,” he said again, his tone a warning that annoyed her as much as him using her name.

“It’s Sam.” Okay, so that wasn’t what she’d planned on saying. Given the look on his face, it wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. She ploughed on. “The only person who calls me Samantha is my dad when I’m in trouble.”

His head tilted, a sudden sparkle lighting his brown eyes. “Trouble, you?” he asked in a teasing tone. “Aren’t you a paragon of virtue?”

The humour died as she shifted closer and touched the collar. She felt him tense, heard the hitch in his breathing.

“You’re certainly good at lectures,” Baal added.

“Hush and let me concentrate,” she murmured. There was a thin line where the ends connected and an etched design that meant nothing to her. “Is this all there is? Was there a control?”

“Not that I noticed, but since I was on the ground getting kicked, I might have missed something.”

Sam winced, then leant closer to the collar. The swirls and curls almost looked like- No, they _were_.

“This is written in Ancient.” She shook her head, then read what it actually said. Cold slid down her spine “’And the people shall deliver the wicked into your divine judgement’. Baal, this is from the Book of Ori.”

He sighed. “So it is. Thoughts?”

“Well, no offence but I’m taking ‘wicked’ as meaning the symbiote. I don’t think the collar is coming off while it’s alive.”

“I concur. However, as you pointed out, I will not heal without my symbiote released from stasis. So what do you suggest?”

Sam chewed at her bottom lip. “There is a possible solution,” she said slowly. “Though hardly pleasant.”

Not for either of them, but she couldn’t see another line of attack. As she took hold of the thin metal, she hoped her theory was correct. “Hang on,” she warned him.

He stiffened. “Wait!”

“Baal-”

“No!” He yanked away and glared at her. “You’re assuming that it doesn’t work on the presence of a symbiote, but the naquadah in my blood.”

She nodded. “I think that’s what activates it, yes.”

“If that is the case, you cannot remove it.”

“Well, I can-”

“Not without suffering the shocks as well.”

He looked almost affronted at the very idea. Sam sighed. “I know. But if it’s shared, then hopefully it’ll be... easier to cope with. Maybe.”

“You would subject yourself to that?”

Sam smiled at his confusion. “I can’t see another way of removing the damn thing,” she pointed out. “Can you?”

“It’s not doing any particular harm, other than preventing my symbiote from healing my injuries.”

“And that’s not enough?” Sam ran a hand through her hair, then voiced the other concern that had occurred to her. “I’m not sure that you’ll be able to ‘Gate off the planet with it still around your neck.”

Baal blinked twice, then closed his eyes. “You might have a point, there,” he said, voice very low. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he turned his back to her once more. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a better plan.”

Licking her lips, Sam took hold of the collar. Pins and needles ran up her arms as she twisted the ends, increasing to a sharper pain when she began to pull them apart.

“God, you were right,” she muttered. “It hurts.”

But she’d be damned if a little pain was going to stop her now. She gritted her teeth and pulled harder. Her vision went white. Baal gave a groan.

“ _Sam_.”

“Almost... there.” The energy made her muscles contract, like an extreme version of cramp. She fought it and the collar. ion of her muscles. “Just a little... more.”

A soft click sounded at the ends of the collar parted. Sam dropped the device to the floor, nerves screaming from the effort, then sagged against Baal’s sweat-soaked back. He was shuddering and she put a hand on his arm in reassurance. It was over – over and done and hopefully...

“You okay?” she asked him.

“Oh yes.” He replied with his human voice, the tone dry with sarcasm. “That was just my idea of fun.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” She shook her hands, trying to restore feeling. “Hurt like hell, though.”

“I did warn you. Shockingly, that was a considerably lesser concentration than when I attempted to remove the device myself.”

Sam pushed up from his back. “And the symbiote? Is it-?”

“Alive and well, thank you.” Now his voice was flanged and the alien reverberation made her shiver. “Your assistance is duly noted and appreciated.”

“Um, great.” She didn’t know what else to that. “So you can fix your... host now?”

“Yes, we’ll be fine. It was a good idea, if a little foolish to risk yourself in such a manner.”

“Your concern is touching.”

“I believe your teammates would be irritated with me if I got you killed.”

Sam snorted. So much for concern – he was just worried about how her death would have reflected on him. She got up and went to the generator, preferring to deal with an inanimate object rather than a self-important Goa’uld at that moment.

“Ah, Sam?” The symbiotic grate was gone and Baal’s voice carried a note of worry. “Why is the collar glowing?”

It was, as well. She stared at it for a moment, then realised why. With a curse, she grabbed it and made a wild dash for the door. Banging it open, she threw the collar as far as she could.

It exploded mid-air.

She watched bright sparks drift downwards. Her stomach clenched at the realisation that she’s inadvertently given their position away. Closing the door, she leant her forehead against the rough wood.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Baal remained oddly silent. She didn’t look at him as she turned back to the table. Her hands shook as she checked over the phase-shift generator again.

“Power levels should see us good for another couple of hours.” Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat and continued. “But they’re going to be coming now. If the Prior has anything to detect the phase shift-”

She trailed off as he came to stand beside her. She glanced at him, but his eyes on the generator. “Perhaps if we worked together, we can increase its capabilities,” he mused.

“Or we screw it up and end up with no protection whatsoever.”

“You might, I would not.” Baal sniffed, clearly affronted at the allusion of doubt at his abilities. “Are you happy entrusting your life to it unmodified?”

“I’d be happy if the Prior would just leave,” she replied sourly. “But since that’s not going to happen, then I think we ought to leave the generator alone. I really don’t fancy being burnt to death.”

“Now isn’t that just like a Tau’ri female? You’re so _conservative_ , Samantha.”

Ignoring the gibe, she went to the door and opened it by a margin. She could hear crashing in the woods and glimpsed a couple of bright spots in the growing darkness.

“Oh, look - pitchforks and torches. I knew today was just missing a good witch hunt.” She glanced over her shoulder to see him opening a panel on the generator. “Baal!”

“I was just looking!”

She pulled her sidearm on him, pointing it at his head. “Put the screwdriver down and back away from the phase device.”

“Okay, okay.” He took a step back with his hands held high. Then the irritation on his face melded to something else, something she didn’t recognise. “Sam,” he said, voice low. “Come away from the door.”

A cold shiver ran down her spine. Turning her head, she saw the Prior stood just inside the hideout. She lowered the gun, hands suddenly trembling.

“Come here,” Baal ordered in the same hushed tone. “Step very slowly.”

Heart pounding, she did as he’d ordered and edged towards him. Eyes locked on the Prior, she whispered, “Does he see us?”

“No, but I suspect he senses something.” Baal stepped forward, positioning himself between her and the Prior. Annoyed at his blocking her line of fire, Sam shoved at him but he merely caught her wrist and held on. “Stay still.”

Sam glared at him. He returned it evenly, stood so close that she couldn’t see past him. She wondered if that wasn’t what he’d intended, even as she listened to the Prior’s shuffling footsteps draw closer. Her annoyance at Baal vanished in a sudden prickle of fear. She swallowed hard, a shiver rippling down her spine.

“Steady,” Baal murmured and, much to her surprise, hooked an arm around her waist. “He’s heading out again.”

Unable to extract herself without causing a flurry of activity that the Prior would notice, phase-shift or not, she leant against Baal’s rock-hard body. It wasn’t as unpleasant as it probably should be.

“He knows we’re here,” she said. The collar had lit the air like a flare. “He has to.”

“Perhaps, but he cannot touch us whilst we’re out of phase.”

He probably meant to sound reassuring, but it didn’t quite work - not when death stalked so close. It occurred to her that she was hiding from one enemy behind another and that was faintly ridiculous. As she shifted away, the Prior turned back: colourless eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Sam froze.

Baal took a slow step sideways, then placed a hand on the small of her back. “If the field fails, run.”

She blinked. “What?”

“If all the villagers are involved with hunting us, then it’s possible that the ‘Gate has been left unguarded.” His eyes were oddly intent as he stared into hers. “Or at least there’ll be few enough that you can get past them. If the Prior breaks the phase, I can distract him. You run, yes?”

His offer surprised her. Selflessness from a Goa’uld? Okay, now she had heard everything.

“Baal-”

“Don’t argue with me, Sam.”

It wasn’t as if she had a better plan. She gave him a wan smile of thanks and nodded. “Okay.”

The Prior moved closer, a puzzled expression on his scarred face. Realising that their discovery was only moments away, Sam stiffened and fixed her eyes on the door. There’d not be much of a chance, she knew.

Baal increased the pressure on her back, and she drew strength from that warm touch. “Be ready,” he murmured.

She jerked a nod.

A shout sounded outside. The Prior turned and walked away, stepping through a door that didn’t exist in his world. Sounds of a heated discussion followed, then faded as the villagers and Prior moved away.

Relief swamped Sam, the room blurring as a buzzing assaulted her ears. As her heart rate returned to normal, she became aware that the only thing keeping her upright was Baal’s firm embrace.

He trailed a hand up and down her back, a gesture she’d find comforting from anyone else but from him? She immediately wondered what he was up to: if he meant to calm her or if he intended something else entirely. Then his selfless offer came to her mind.

Lifting her head, she gazed into gold-flecked brown eyes. “You were prepared to sacrifice yourself for me,” she murmured.

Baal snorted. “For you? Hardly. No, it was purely a tactical decision.” He smirked at her. “Based on the painful fact that the Tau’ri are far more likely to push the Ori from this galaxy than my forces. Since you are integral to that effort, I decided your survival was more the important, especially considering I have clones and you... don’t.”

Well, so much for that moment of chivalry, Sam thought sourly and yanked backwards. Or tried: his hands remained around her and his hold was firm. She settled for glaring at him.

“So we get to do your dirty work, while you take over the galaxy?”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

“You do realise that’s not going to work, don’t you?”

“I can but try.”

“Oh, you’re very trying,” she retorted and shoved his arms down. This time he released her. She tried not to feel a little disappointed, distracting herself from the absence of his touch by checking the generator again.

Her hands trembled. She put it down to the remaining residue of fear - after all it wasn’t every day one was faced without execution. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact she’d rather liked being in Baal’s arms, because she hadn’t.

She _couldn’t_ have done. Or could she?

The mere idea was ridiculous. He was a Goa’uld, for God’s sake: the surviving System Lord. It shouldn’t matter that he was attractive. Yet the fact remained that she enjoyed being with him, had been worried when he was in danger of dying.

What the hell was the matter with her? Irritated at her turbulent emotions and the man who inadvertently caused them, Sam slammed her right hand down on the table. Pain bloomed across her palm and up her arm, distracting her from the constant warm buzz of his proximity.

“What are you doing?”

His tone was incredulous, serving to spark further irritation at the fact he’d noticed her moment of weakness. She went with that emotion, because it was safer than the others.

“Venting my frustrations,” she snapped. “Since slapping you might appear ungrateful.”

“What have I done now?” he asked. The fizz of her blood increased as he moved closer. She could feel the heat of his body, the shift of her hair as he breathed out. “How have I caused any frustration?”

A hand curved on her left hip, the other he ran down her arm, raising gooseflesh in the wake of his touch. He took hold of her right wrist and lifted her hand, twisting it to reveal the red palm.

If he didn’t know what was frustrating her, then he was nowhere near as intelligent as he claimed to be. Sam licked her dry lips and took a shuddering breath in.

“It was nice to think you might care after all,” she murmured. “Rather than it just being a strategy.”

“Foolishness.” His thumb brushed her stinging palm. “As was this: is it usual Tau’ri practice to inflict damage on the body?”

Sam flexed her fingers and felt the pull of tender skin. “It was better than the alternative.”

“I didn’t imagine that you’d hesitate from hitting me, Sam.”

His voice rumbled with humour, and a hint of something that made her knees shake. She would have commented, but then he lifted her hand further and pressed a soft kiss on her palm.

A soft gasp escaped her. “Really?” she somehow managed to eke out. “You think I’m that... insolent?”

“I _know_ you are, but it’s just a lack of intelligence.”

Her growing desire successfully dampened, Sam shoved him away with her hip. Her rage was hot and immediate, and she was vaguely aware that she needed to calm down but the stresses of the day meant she couldn’t quite get her seething emotions in check.

She spun to face him, her right hand dropping to the butt of her sidearm. Baal barked a laugh and grabbed her wrist, pulling her against him.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he drawled as she flailed against his greater strength. Perhaps restoring his symbiote hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

“Bastard,” she snapped and kicked out, catching the instep of his foot with the heel of her boot. He hissed in pain and twisted her arm behind her back. Her shoulder protested but she ignored it and drove her free hand into his stomach.

Baal grunted and his grip loosening as he doubled over, wheezing. Sam drove a fist into his ribcage and heard the grate of bone on bone. Clearly his symbiote hadn’t quite healed that break yet.

A flicker of guilt distracted her. It was all he needed and her vision went hazy as a shoulder barge slammed her against the wall of the hideout. His weight crushed her chest, making it impossible to breathe. She scrabbled at his arms, desperate for purchase and air. A whimper escaped her as the room darkened.

“Did you _really_ think you could better me in a fight, Samantha?” Baal asked, breath hot in her ear.

She hadn’t thought at all. Her hand plucked at his shirt, strength draining as her body starved of oxygen. Her vision went black; awareness sliding away as unconsciousness rushed over her.

The next thing she knew, warm air was flooding her lungs and the pressure crushing her chest had released. She opened her eyes to find his surprisingly close. A hand cupped her cheek, fingers warm and light against her skin.

And his lips hovered over her mouth.

She inhaled sharply, shock chilling her. What the hell was he doing? Panic at the heat pooling at his proximity made her shove at him. Her heart clenched as disappointment flickered over his face. She caught his wrists and he froze.

The moment stretched, Baal’s eyes were locked on her, a silent question in their brown depths. Her answer should be no; she knew that. But she was done fighting.

Light flared in his eyes as she sagged, and a knowing smirk curved his lips upwards. She shook her head.

“Please don’t,” she murmured. Distress made it hard to say anything and her voice was a hoarse croak. “I-”

“What shouldn’t I do, Samantha?” He stroked her cheek, drying a tear she’d not even been aware of shedding. “Should I let you go?”

She closed her eyes in defeat. “No.”

“I thought not.”

“You would think that you’re irresistible,” she complained and shot him a hot glare. “Isn’t it enough that I give up?”

“But do you? I sense a little rebellion within you still, Sam.” His tone was faintly regretful, as if her remaining fight disappointed him. “Am I incorrect?”

“Hardly. But I’m not going to surrender to you, Baal.”

“Are you not?” He chuckled and then brushed her lips with another feather-light kiss. A small, helpless moan caught in her throat. Baal captured her face in both hands and blazed a look into her soul. “Yield to me.”

She clung desperately to the last of her sanity. “No.”

His eyes narrowed. “I know you want me. I sense it.”

“You’re delusional.”

“And you are impossible. However, I find that curiously appealing.” He lowered his head again. Her hands tightened on his arms as he slipped his tongue between her lips. “Let me taste you properly.”

The softly-voiced request undid her. When he closed his mouth on hers again, she relaxed and let him explore. A shiver worked down her spine as he kissed her slowly and very, very thoroughly.

Desire flared. She pulled him closer, suddenly hungry for more and no longer caring if he knew that.

“Baal,” she gasped when he let her up for air.

“Oh, now, yes I like that: sweet worship from sweeter lips.” His eyes were dark with restrained passion as his hands cupped her breasts and when the hell had he undone her shirt? She couldn’t think, couldn’t remember. “Sa _man_ tha,” he purred.

Her hands slid to his shoulder and she arched into his touch, a shudder wracking her as he thumbed her nipples. She gasped, only for the soft sound to be swallowed by another devastating kiss. His tongue plundered her mouth, hot and sweet from the powerbar. She sucked at him, hungry for his taste. Hungry for him.

It occurred to her that her team would have an apoplexy if they knew what she doing. Landry would bust her ass and the IOA would rake her over coals. Her entire career would end up in shambles, but as Baal’s lips grazed the side of her throat, Sam couldn’t bring herself to care.

Too long had passed since someone had touched her with such passion and tenderness. The latter surprised her, since she’d thought that a quick, hard fuck against the wall of the hideout was more his style. Apparently she was wrong about that, but she wasn’t going to complain – not when his hands caressed her like that.

She hummed in pleasure at the slow passes, every touch making her body sing. The hot throb between her legs was almost more than she could take and she pressed harder against him with another breathless murmur of his name.

“Baal.”

“Sam,” he whispered in response, voice husky with a want that reverberated through her. The Goa’uld arrogance was gone, replaced by human-sounding hunger. She shuddered and looked up into his eyes.

She stilled at the expression on his face - soul-aching need combined with a glimmer of vulnerability. The latter shook her and a gasp broke as she touched his cheek with shaking fingers.

I-hate-you-but-want-you-anyway sex might have been acceptable in the heat of the moment, but this? This had just shifted away from that and was more about the pull she’d felt from when they’d first met on Dakara. Only now she knew that she wasn’t alone in that attraction and things had just gotten much more complicated.

Baal stared at her, coming to the same conclusion if his expression was anything to go by. The sensible, sane, not- fucking-with-her-career option would be to push him away and pretend that the mere idea of this hadn’t even entered her head. It was exactly what the rules and regulations and common sense told her to do. However rules and regulations and common sense had seen her lose one too many relationships and if she was going to get burnt this time, then it might as well be worth it.

Her lips lifted in a smile and she combed her hand through his short hair, then pulled him close and kissed him hard. He responded, his arms snaking about her waist. She wound hers around his shoulders and nipped at his tongue. He groaned into her mouth and heat flooded her.

“Can you?” she murmured, thinking about the bruising that marred him. He gave a low chuckle.

“Your concern is touching, but a little misplaced.”

He stepped back and unfastened the buttons on his shirt. Shrugging it off, she saw that his skin was less purple than it had been before. The symbiote, she thought and wondered how she could have forgotten that, could have forgotten what he was.

“What does he think about this?” she asked, curiosity overcoming the idea that she might not want to know.

“That you’re thinking too much.” Baal moved closer, his eyes dark. “Perhaps I should distract you.”

“Perhaps you should. Or...” She ran her fingers over his bandaged chest, seeking and finding the pin that held it together. “Perhaps I ought to do the distracting.”

With that, she unpinned the bandage and tugged it loose. His ribs were more bruised than the rest of him, but a quick touch assured her that his rib was healed enough not to be an impediment. She smiled in some relief, because the ache between her legs was getting harder to ignore.

Sam got serious, undoing the buckle of his belt and loosening his trousers. A hiss escaped him as she took his very evident desire in hand, and she nearly joined him; the feel of his hard erection against her palm making her moisten with desire.

“Sam,” he said in a voice roughened with a lust. “That is very distracting.”

She gave a broken nod, wanting only to slide him inside her. Shoving the fabric of his trousers down over his ass, she took a moment to admire a body that was leaner than the voluminous robes he usually wore had led her to believe.

Now that there was no danger of him dying or their being discovered by Priors, Sam allowed herself to ogle him. He was all wiry strength, powerfully-muscled shoulders and torso narrowing down to a slim waist and long legs. There wasn’t an ounce of superfluous fat or evidence of his advanced age.

“You’re gorgeous,” she sighed, suddenly aware of her more human failings. Her cheeks burnt and she looked away. “Why do you want me?”

“Many reasons,” he said as he tugged her close. Her heart skipped at the sensation of his naked flesh against hers. “Not least of which is that you are beautiful.”

“No-”

“Are you arguing with me, Samantha?” His voice was arched but carried an undertone of amusement. “Don’t challenge your God.”

She snorted a laugh and thumped his shoulder. “You’re not any God,” she said. “Never mind not mine.”

“You’re wrong about that.”

To her shock, he dropped to his knees. Her breath hitched as he undid her trousers and drew them down. A shudder wracked her when his hands slid up over her thighs.

“Baal?”

He threw her a dark look, then kissed her left leg. Her knees nearly gave and only the wall behind her prevented an embarrassing fall.

A moan sighed out as his lips moved higher. Her trousers looped around her ankles, preventing her from opening her legs as much as she wanted. It was enough for him though.

“Oh God!” she gasped at the first flick of his tongue on her clit. His laugh sent a frisson through her.

“I told you so.”

Sam felt a flicker of irritation, then his fingers sought and found her damp passage. She could do was clutch at his shoulders as he pushed two inside, opening her wide for his tongue.

Another curse dropped from her lips as he showed off a remarkable talent for cunnilingus. She let her head fall back to the wall and closed her eyes. He was, she decided, really very good with his tongue.

“Oooh,” she moaned as he found a responsive spot. “Hm, yes, just. Like. That.”

He chuckled and the reverberations shook her. Spilt her over the edge and into a fairly spectacular orgasm. As Baal sat on his heels and wiped the back of a hand over his mouth, she let gravity pull her down to the bed. She stared at him, mildly stunned.

“You taste delicious,” he announced with a grin.

She shook her head, no idea how to respond to that. Her fingers fumbled over the knots of her boot laces, trying and failing to undo them.

“Dammit,” she sighed.

“Here, let me.” Baal knelt between her legs, his deft fingers making short work of untangling the mess.

“Is there nothing that you don’t excel at?”

He pursed his lips, clearly having to think about it.

“No,” he said finally. “I don’t believe there is.”

“You’re not very good at modesty,” she pointed out and poked his shoulder.

“But I do excel at most things, so why bother pretend otherwise?” His expression was guileless, an attempt at innocence that didn’t quite sit right on his face. It morphed to the usual smug smirk. “Or did you want evidence at how brilliant I really am?”

“Well, I am a scientist. Any theory must be tested thoroughly.”

Baal smiled slowly and pushed up, one hand sliding into her hair as his mouth angled over hers. Musk and sugar clung to his tongue. The taste of herself made Sam wetter and she lay back on the bed, pulling him with her. He got the hint immediately.

Her pulse skipped as he stretched out on top of her. His erection was hard against her inner thigh, yet he didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry to actually connect them. Not that she minded since his hands were wandering her body, fingers drifting a light caress over her arms and breasts. She let out a hum of pleasure when he circled her nipples, then yelped at the sharp pinch.

“Hey!”

“No?”

She opened her mouth, then considered it. The pain had ebbed to a curious pulse of arousal. Hm, interesting.

“No. I mean, yes. You just took me by surprise.”

“I fully intended to.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “I like to surprise you, Samantha.”

Well, he was doing okay with that, given she’d never expected to be in this situation with him, never mind thoroughly enjoying it. She smiled and stroked a hand over his head.

“You go right ahead,” she murmured. “I like surprises.”

“Oh, good.” He tweaked her nipple again, the pleasure-pain causing her to moan loudly. She arched her back, seeking his touch, and he chuckled. “Very good, indeed.”

She opened her mouth to ask, but he assaulted her body with fingers and teeth; pinching, nipping and making her shudder as wave after wave of desire swamped her.

“Oh!” she gasped. “Oh God.”

Baal lifted his head. “Yes, my dear?”

“That’s not funny.”

“I disagree.”

She rolled her eyes, but it was impossible not to chuckle along with him. It felt good to laugh, to share a moment of humour with him. It popped like a bubble at the thought she might be getting too involved: physicality was one thing, but emotionally was something else entirely.

Needing to shift her attention away from that rather unnerving idea, she hooked a leg over his hip and pulled him down. If he misread that intention, then there was no hope for him.

“Baal,” she pleaded softly. “Please.”

Hard flesh pushed against her clit, then he dropped his hips and drove forward, sliding inside easily. Sam forgot to breathe as he went deeper, filling her completely.

It was exquisite bliss and she bit her lip to contain a moan as her hands clutched at his shoulders, his arms, the bedclothes - anything that she could hold onto and keep from losing her mind.

“Oh,” she whimpered. “Baal.”

“You are so beautiful.”

His awe-tinged voice made her eyelids fly open. His expression was slightly stunned, vaguely vulnerable. It was the same brief look she’d seen earlier and it troubled her as much now as it had done then.

Baal licked his lips, then ventured a soft word. “Sam?”

“Don’t.” Her voice cracked. “Please don’t. It’s impossible.”

He sighed. “I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that I think you’re incredible.”

“I thought I was just a mere Tau’ri female?” she said, then bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to say that, or sound as bitter about it. “Sorry.”

“You are Tau’ri and most definitely female, but ‘mere’?” He smirked and caressed a breast. “Oh, no, Samantha – you are not merely anything.”

The compliment was unexpected - and unwanted; too close to an admission that she couldn’t handle him confessing. Things were too complicated between them already. She rolled her eyes and shoved at his shoulder.

“Shut up and fuck me,” she groused.

“How could I possibly resist such a finely-worded request?” he chuckled, but he still thrust harder, with more intent and yes, this was what she needed: to feel nothing but the slide of his body, the friction of his cock inside her.

Delicious tension curled through her gut and she bucked beneath him, wanting it harder and faster. Wanting him to make her climax again. She cried out as he drove in hard, seemingly reading her mind.

“Oh, God, yes!”

“Like that?”

“Yes. Oh please yes.”

She dug her nails into his shoulders, making him groan and thrust harder still. He grazed her neck with his teeth, so she retaliated by scratching his back.

“Leaving marks?” he asked, kneading a breast in time with his thrusts.

“Can I?” she wondered aloud. “Won’t your symbiote heal them?”

“Not if I choose otherwise,” he replied, his smirk dark and dangerous. “And I do. I want to wear your scratches for a while.”

Sam shuddered, the idea making her clit throb. She raked his back hard enough to leave welts, wanting to etch this encounter on his body and mind. The something occurred to her.

“In exchange for what?” she panted.

He chuckled. “Can’t slip anything past you, can I? Ah, I want something, Samantha. I want to hear you beg to climax and scream my name when I make you come.”

Her mouth went dry, but she managed to gasp, “Then make me.”

Baal laughed at her. It was perhaps dangerous to challenge him like that, but being kept at the brink of a climax was driving her insane and she needed to come. She wanted him to make her.

It would seem he wanted to push her to it as well: his thrusts becoming hard and fast and relentless. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, heels tucked against his ass so she could pull him in even harder. Her hands gripped his arms, then dropped to knot on the think blanket behind her as she got closer.

“Say it, Sam,” he panted, voice ragged with exertion. “Say my name.”

“Baal.” She quivered as the beginnings of the climax tingled across her skin. He slammed in. Sparks exploded behind her eyelids. “Baal!”

The scream hurt her throat, but the wave of ecstasy wiped every conscious thought from her mind. All she could do was cling to him and wait for the tremors to abate.

A delicious heaviness seeped though her as she lay there, sweaty and entangled with Baal’s boneless form. His face was buried against her neck, breath rapid and hot on her skin.

Sudden affection crested over her and she wrapped her arms around him, trying to hold onto the moment. But cold hard reality became gradually impossible to ignore. Tears prickled at her eyelids and she gave a soft, broken moan.

Baal’s hands tightened on her shoulders. “I know,” he breathed, voice rough. “I know.”

So did she - she’d fraternised with one of Earth’s greatest enemies, had had sex with a man who wasn’t quite human. Worse, she didn’t rightly care how many regulations that broke. In fact, given the same scenario would happily do it again.

That brought a question to mind, one she hesitated on voicing. But she needed to know... what this had been, if she was right.

“I don’t regret it,” she told him softly. “You know that, right?”

“I do.” He sighed and lifted his head. “I don’t, either, in case you were wondering.”

“That wasn’t what I was wondering.”

A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “I know what you’re thinking, Samantha. And I think that you shouldn’t ask questions to which you don’t truly want the answers to.”

Sam sighed and brushed his cheek. “Like if there will be a next time?”

“Exactly like that.” He bent and kissed her briefly. “I can promise you nothing, Sam. And your loyalties lie elsewhere.”

“Yeah.”  
But the truth hurt, and she twisted her head so he didn’t see the tears she felt building. Warm air washed over her neck and she smiled at the touch of his lips.

If he asked her to stay with, she would. Perhaps he knew that, perhaps that was why he didn’t ask. Instead, he simply stroked her hair and lulled her to sleep.

The last thing she heard was his voice, soft with regret. “I wish I could promise you more, Sam. Truly I do.”

 

 

“Sam? Sam!”

Vala’s voice roused her from slumber. Blinking awake, Sam found the blanket had been pulled over her naked body and her uniform folded in a neat pile at the foot of her bed.

There was no sign of her companion, not that she was surprised. She gave a muted sigh.

“Vala? How did you get in here?” Sam glanced at the generator. The lights were dull. “Oh.”

“Yeah, we figured it ran out of power.”

Sam didn’t correct that notion, instead she grabbed her knickers and fumbled them on under the covers. Vala continued to poke the generator.

“So, are you okay?” she asked. “I tell you, Cam was having mittens when we had to leave you behind.”

“Kittens,” Sam corrected absently, gathering her shirt to her nose. It smelt of Baal. Gooseflesh bumped over her arms and she suppressed a shiver. “Did you have any trouble? There was a Prior-”

“Hm, yes.” Vala hitched herself onto the table. “Emphasis on was. He left once he’d... ah, educated the town’s folk on the price of failure.”

More explanation wasn’t necessary. Sam winced, feeling a brief flicker of regret even though they’d tried to kill her.

“I see,” she said. Her thoughts returned to Baal. “So you guys didn’t meet with any resistance? Or see anyone... alive?”

“Nope and nope.” Vala began to pack up the devices, then paused with a frown. “Hey, didn’t we have a personal cloaking device?”

Several things clicked into place, confirmed by the sudden buzz of her radio. She knew then that Baal had powered down the generator and switched on her radio to ensure that the rest of SG1 found her. He’d have taken the personal shield to hide himself from the Prior, since he’d not have known about what had happened in the town.

In fact, he might still be close by – watching as her team made contact, making sure she stayed safe. The idea warmed her.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “We had the phase generator, after all.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Vala bought the story, making Sam feel somewhat guilty for lying to a member of her team. Only somewhat though – it was more important that she protected Baal, since Cam would shoot first and ask questions later.

Sam pulled her shirt on, thankful that Vala’s packing meant she didn’t notice the lack of bra. That was still on the floor of the cell. She finished dressing - trousers, then socks and boots. She fastened the laces and stood up.

“Sam!” Cam shouted as she left the hideout. She smiled at his infectious, ear-to-ear grin. “Cavalry’s come.”

She laughed and hugged him. “I knew you would. It was just a matter of waiting.”

“I hope that you didn’t get too bored.”

Oh, if only you knew, she though and coughed. “I kept myself entertained,” she assured him and then extracted herself from his tight embrace. Teal’c gave her a serious nod. She smiled at him, getting the uncomfortable sensation that he knew something had happened.

Fortunately, Teal’c was the epitome of discretion and said nothing but, “It is good to see you well, Colonel Carter.”

“Thanks, Teal’c.” Sam shouldered her pack and looked back at Cam. “Let’s get out of here - I need a shower and a decent meal.”

“Shower we can do,” Cam grinned. “But you’re stuck with whatever passes for food in the canteen.”

“After a day of MREs, canteen food sounds delicious.”

“Says you. I’d rather go to O’Malley’s.”

Sam laughed. She didn’t look back as she followed the MALP to the Stargate – no promises, no goodbyes. No idea when she’d see him again. But it was when and not if, because there would be a next time.

All she could hope was that he’d acknowledge what had happened between them and not pretend otherwise. She’d cross that bridge when she got to it.

Lifting her chin, Sam stepped through the event horizon.


End file.
